


Two-Faced

by infiniteworld8



Series: Nothing In This World I Wouldn't Do [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parent John Winchester, Dean Winchester Makes Sacrifices For Sam Winchester, Delirium, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kid Winchesters, Legends, Saving People Hunting Things, Sickfic, You don't use your kid as bait
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 03:14:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11682861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteworld8/pseuds/infiniteworld8
Summary: While hunting a creature from an ancient Native American Legend Dean is severely injured. John, must care for him and in the process learns the lengths his children will go to for each other.





	Two-Faced

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration for the monster is taking from Native American legend. See End notes for details. And if you have a good title suggestion let me know.

 

_Death tolls are rising in the Northern Dakota as police hit dead ends trying to find the killer who seems to be solely targeting the vulnerable, particularly kids. We’ll have more on this story in the coming hour._

Dean changed the channel as Sam frowned. He knew she had already heard it though, and while she didn’t know the truth: that the monster they were looking for was actually a monster not some human, she had to have noticed their father’s anxiety.

Sure enough Sam asked. “Is that what dad is worried about?”

“Yeah.” Dean answered, not wanting to dwell on what he had been overhearing as John grew increasingly agitated. Dean had seen the pictures spread out on the table and he had read the lore books alongside John as Sam played tables away in the kids’ section of the library. They were dealing with a monster that had already killed over twenty kids and was slowly going after more.

Dean could hear John arguing about something in the other room and while he knew he wasn’t supposed to be eavesdropping he had to find out just what was happening. John had been getting cagier, these past few days and his quiet phone conversations had Dean worried. He had seen his father obsessed, in fact most of the time his father spent his time obsessed about a hunt. But this was different, this was beyond any obsession.

Three weeks ago, Dean and Sam had been stashed at some backwards motel while John went out to hunt the thing. He had said it was a simple black dog hunt and he would be back in a few days. Days had turned to weeks, and when John got back he was quiet. It was clear he hadn’t caught the thing and from what he had overheard and read Dean knew it was a lot worse than a black dog.

The thing ate kids...sometimes a pregnant woman or two, but for the most part the victims had been children. Dean knew how to fire a shot gun, burn and salt remains, and a hundred other stuff, but seeing little kids, barely older than him and sometimes younger gutted and lying dead had him scared.

Whatever it was, was moving and John was tracking it. But that didn’t make Dean feel any safer, because if John could track the monster then what was to stop it from tracking them?

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Where are you going?” Sammy glanced up from her cartoons to interrogate him.

“To see if dad needs anything.”

“He’s on the phone.”

“Yeah, so?”

“He said don’t bother him when he’s on the phone.” Sam added a little smugly.

Dean hated this know-it-all phase his sister was in, but she was technically right. Their dad wouldn’t take kindly to him eavesdropping on the conversation, but Dean needed to know. Instead of listening to Sam, Dean frowned and said. “He was talking about you because you talk too much.”

“Hey, I do not.”

“You do to.”

“Do not.”

Dean sighed, he wasn’t getting into this. Once Sam got started she could keep going for hours. Instead he placated her with, “Okay, I’m going to go listen and I’ll tell you what dad said when I come back?”

Sam appeared to think about it for a moment, then she glanced back at the TV where Wiley coyote was chasing the roadrunner and seemed to decide that this way she could get the best of both worlds. “Okay.”

Dean crept up to the back room, stopping just inside the door. He could see his father pacing, as he talked on the phone with someone. His Dad sounded angry.

“This thing is hunting kids— “a pause then. “I’m not saying that, you’re taking this whole thing out of context Bobby.”

Dean smiled at the mention of uncle Bobby, he liked the older man who sometimes watched him and Sam, though lately Bobby and his father had seemed angry with each other. Dean didn’t know why and when he had asked Bobby the older man, had just looked at him a little sadly and said. “Your father sometimes forgets you all are kids. He doesn’t like me reminding him.” Dean hadn’t exactly understood that because he was pretty sure his dad knew how young they were. Instead of dwelling on Bobby’s words though Dean focused back on the conversation.

“I have limits. I appreciate the offer but this thing isn’t going to come after two grown men like it would a child.” John fell silent a muscle twitching in his jaw and Dean could hear yelling coming from the phone. Then his father was interrupting.

“I’m not going to use Dean. He wouldn’t be scared enough anyway, it wouldn’t work.”

Dean scooted closer, slipping into the room and crouching down so he was hidden by the bed. He listened carefully wondering what his Dad was talking about.

There was more yelling from the phone this time and his Dad held it away from his ear. It was so loud Dean could hear some of Bobby’s words.

“What the hell is wrong with you—don’t tell me you’re thinking of Sam---a fucking five-year-old—you’ve lost your mind, if Mary could— “

Dean flinched at that, his Dad hated hearing his mother’s name. In fact the only time Dean had heard her name in the past few years had been when John was drunk. He curled up now, hugging his knees to his chest, wishing he hadn’t crept in as he listened to his father start to yell.

“You don’t fucking tell me how to raise my children Bobby.” There was more yelling from the phone but John over talked him, “Don’t threaten me. If you even think of calling CPS, so help me God I will— “

 _Bobby was going to call CPS?_ Dean didn’t know exactly who they were but how evil they were had been drilled into him every time before his father went away. Don’t talk to strangers, don’t tell anyone an adult wasn’t home, don’t mention all they had was boxed mac and cheese and tuna at home for dinner….and a myriad of other stuff not to do or CPS would come and take them away and they’d never see their Dad again.

Before Dean could figure out why Bobby and his Dad were so mad, he heard Sam’s voice. “Why are you yelling?”

Dean slipped under the bed, just his eyes peeking out, and watched as his Dad walked to the floor, phone still in hand. “Not now Sam. Go watch TV.”

“But Dad— “

“I said go watch TV can’t you see I’m on the phone.”

“Dad— “

“Go sit your fucking ass down or you’re going to catch it.” Then the door slammed. Dean watched as his father started pacing again he couldn’t hear the voice on the floor anymore but his father was making disapproving noises in response to whatever Bobby was saying. Finally, he broke in his voice deadly quiet. “I’m not risking my own child. I’ll be there, hell I offered for you to be there to make sure everything goes smoothly. That monster is killing kids…how many more is it going to take before someone stops it. I can. It’s simple, Sam goes with us as bait, the thing will come after her and we’ll kill it before anything happens— “

Dean froze at that—the rest of what John had said faded away—instead his heart was hammering as he tried to process it.

Sam, was going to be bait. All he could think about was those kids he had seen in the photos, ripped apart, entrails hanging out, body—

Before he had consciously realized what, he was doing he scrambled out from under the bed and crossed to his dad. “Not Sam—please not Sammy— “He was begging over and over. He was vaguely aware of his Dad getting off the phone, then John’s hands were on his shoulders. His eyes glaring into Dean’s own.

“You were listening in?”

Dean hesitated then nodded, breathing fast. He knew he was going to get in trouble but at that moment none of it mattered.

“We’re not having this conversation. You weren’t supposed to be listening in anyway.” John straightened up. “Now go get packed up, I’m dropping you off at Pastor Jim’s, I don’t want you getting in the way and— “

That just had Dean panicking more as he realized his Dad had mentioning leaving him at Pastor Jim’s but hadn’t said a word about Sam.

“No.” He hadn’t meant to say it but as the word fell out he meant it.

“What did you say.”

“No.”

John’s face was darkening, anger clearly evident, and Dean would have trembled but all he could think about was Sam. The monster would kill her….it had already killed lots of kids. His dad thought he could kill it but what if he wasn’t fast or strong enough, then—

Dean felt his eyes burn as he thought about Sam lying ripped up on the ground, it made his stomach churn.  “Please, not Sam.” Dean started to cry hot tears running rivulets down his face, but he couldn’t stop. “I’ll do it. I promise I’ll be scared. I’ll stand there.” Dean was terrified at the thought but his job was to protect Sam…his dad had told him that so why was he forgetting it now? “I’ll do it. Take me, please not Sam—Not Sam—not Sammy— “

Dean was blubbering now, snot clogging his nose, tears partially obscuring his vision. It seemed like long moments before John nodded. His voice was gruff as he answered. “Okay.” He seemed like he wanted to say something else but after another moment, walked out the room.

XXX

It was the next morning and true to his word John was taking Sam to Pastor John’s. Bobby had called sometime during the night and Dean didn’t know what his Dad had said but Bobby hadn’t yelled this time. Dean wondered whether Bobby knew that Dean was going to take Sam’s place instead, then he decided that he didn’t care…because if Bobby knew he probably wouldn’t like it. Bobby was always telling him that he should be a kid when he went to stay at the older man’s house, sometimes Bobby didn’t understand that Dean had responsibilities and his dad needed him.

Dean wasn’t feeling the greatest, maybe it was just anxiety from what he knew was planned, but his throat felt dry and scratchy and his stomach was fluttering. Instead of mentioning how he felt to John though he kept silent. He wasn’t risking giving him any reason to change his mind. Dean shoved the last of the clothes in an already tight duffel and zipped it up. He picked up the bag, faltering a little under the weight and started toward the door. Sam followed behind her morning long complaint already restarting. “Dean, why can’t I come with you and dad?”

“Because Dad needs my help, not yours.”

“Well, I can help you”

“No, you need to stay with Pastor Jim.”

“Why, I want to go with you.”

Dean, was tired and he was also worried. John was waiting for them in the Impala and Dean was nervous that if Sam kept asking to come along John would change his mind. “It’ll be fun Sam; doesn’t he have all those dolls from Sunday school? Isn’t one of them a potato patch or something.”

Sam was temporarily distracted. She sighed dramatically with the air of one long suffering and corrected him. “It’s a cabbage patch silly.” They had reached the car and Dean carefully placed the bag in then helped Sam clamber up as she was still talking. “Pastor Jim put it on the shelf last time we went and said it was mine every time I came over!”

Dean nodded distractedly as he climbed in the front seat next to John. Sam leaned conciliatoryly forward and whispered. “I’ll bring you a hot wheel back. He’s got tons”

Dean frowned. “Don’t steal from pastor Jim.”

“But Dean, he has so many...just one--”

“I mean it Sam.”

“You listen to your brother Samantha, I catch you stealing from Pastor Jim, I’ll whip your ass.” John said cutting into the soon to be argument.

Sam hotly protested that she wasn’t planning to steal and Dean settled back into the seat listening to his sister prattle on.

XXX

Dropping her off at Pastor Jim was uneventful, though the man had remarked that Dean didn’t look so well Before his Dad could scrutinize him too closely Dean had said he was fine and gone to sit in the car until they were on their way. Truth was though, he didn’t feel good at all.

In the hours long drive to Blue Earth, MN what he had thought was merely anxiety had gotten worse. His throat felt raw, his stomach was upset, he had a cough that was getting difficult to hide and he was pretty sure he was developing a fever.

The drive to North Dakota was tiring even though Dean had managed to doze on and off.  When John finally stopped for the night Dean would have gratefully collapsed into the motel bed and slept but his father stopped him. Dean sat on the side of the bed as his father glared at him, his face the serious Dean had ever seen

“We’re going after that thing tomorrow.”

“Yes sir.” Dean wasn’t surprised John had already told him that during the drive there…so there was something else he was about to say.

“This isn’t a game…we need to catch this monster before it kills another kid.”

“Yes sir.”

‘You’re going to have to stand there and wait for it…. you have to look terrified...act like you’re scared. This monster feeds off the fear of its victims before it kills you.”

“Yes sir.”

“You can’t have any weapons on you, I’m going to tie you up so it thinks you’re helpless.”

Dean nearly faltered at that. He imagined standing there…waiting for something to come after him…not being able to even defend himself…but it was either him or Sam so he answered. “Yes sir.”

John stared at him for a long moment and Dean wondered what he was thinking, he just wanted to go to sleep. Dean was silent as he watched him, abruptly John slapped his hand down on the table they were sitting at causing Dean to flinch. “This isn’t going to fucking work if you don’t care.”

Dean would have protested but his throat felt on fire and John was going on too much for him to interject. Abruptly his father stopped talking and went to one of their duffel bags, he pulled out two thick manila folders and brought them back to the table.  “This is what we’re dealing with here.”

John flipped the thickest folder open and photos fanned out spilling across the table. It was crime scene photos, limbs strewn around, little boys and girls gutted, blood splashed across the ground like someone had poured a bucket of the stuff. Dean tried to look away…he was only nine but he had seen a lot. But this—this was too much. John gripped his cheeks, turning his head back towards the photos.

“Take a good long look, unless we catch this fucking monster some other kid is going to wind up like this, do you understand me?”

Dean nodded. “Yes, sir. I—I understand.”

“I don’t think you do.” John stared at him some more and Dean stared at the table in front of him, he couldn’t bear to meet his father’s eyes and see the anger in them and he didn’t dare look at anything else for fear of seeing the pictures.

“Read me the case…each case.”

Dean looked up wondering what his father was getting at, he didn’t move to take the other manila file where he could see neatly typed up reports of each death…he didn’t want to know the details of what had happened, he already knew enough. But he didn’t have a choice.

“Now, or I’m going to whip your ass.”

Dean grabbed the first file as it was shoved into his hand, the paper cut his index finger and he watched a bead of blood appear. It welled crimson and dripped down, the papers shook in his hand. John’s hand went to his belt starting to undo the buckle and Dean swallowed and started reading.

“Mo---molly O’Connor. Six years old, found with her intestines— “Dean read every file. There were over twenty of them, complete with pictures at the end, photo after photo of how they had been found. By the time they finished the last report Dean felt even sicker, his stomach was churning and his face was bone white. He had been scared before he started, now he was terrified. The only thing that kept him from begging his father not to take him tomorrow was the knowledge that if he didn’t go then Sam would in his place.

Acid lurched in his throat as he thought of Sam, sweet innocent Sam, lying dead on the ground covered in blood like those children he had seen. “May I be excused?”

His father looked like he wanted to say something else but he didn’t, instead he nodded.

Dean rushed to the bathroom, barely in time to retch into the toilet. He had been sick for the past day, but those gory pictures had been the last straw. After a few moments, he pulled back wiping his mouth suddenly aware that John was standing in the door. His fear was John would realize he was sick and make him stay back from the hunt but instead his father watched him for a moment longer before saying softly almost to himself. “I have to do this…you understand? I have to do this.”

“Yes, sir.” Dean whispered the words with a raw throat, but John didn’t seem to notice. He was already turning away.

Dean waited until John had left before straightening up. He was trembling partly from shivers as he felt his fever going higher but mostly because he was terrified of tomorrow.

Still it was either him or Sam and he would do anything if it meant keeping his little sister safe. Dean dosed himself with stomach medicine and Tylenol from the med kit in John’s bag and tried to sleep.

John had turned out the lights and within minutes he could hear his father’s snores. But Dean couldn’t sleep, he laid in the dark missing Sam’s warm body snuggled next to him instead of his father’s heavy frame. He was miserable, he was sick, and he wanted to be back home.

He wanted Sam.

Eventually sleep came, but with it were dreams. Blood, screaming, monsters plagued his nightmares. But it wasn’t himself he saw lying on the ground each time the images replayed in his head…it was Sam.

XXX

Morning came and with it preparations for the hunt that night. Dean and John caught breakfast at a diner a few miles from the motel. He tried to eat knowing it was going to be a long day but barely got a few bites of scrambled eggs and toast down before he knew it wasn’t a good idea to continue. John was oblivious to most everything but the hunt, which was both a good and bad thing. It meant he didn’t notice Dean sneaking Tylenol and meds from his bag, or how quiet he was and that he barely ate, but it also meant he wouldn’t take Dean off the case.

John had papers spread out on the diner table and in between bites of bacon and hash browns he talked. They were hunting a two-faced.  It was a creature that appeared in the lore of several native American tribes, that was said by some accounts to have two heads and by others to have two faces on one head. Just exactly what it looked like there were conflicting opinions but it preyed mostly on kids and pregnant women, dismembering, mutilating, and killing its victims.

John continued talking and Dean tried his best not to listen, but he couldn’t stop himself.

When they finished breakfast, John dropped him off at the motel and went out. It was still part of the school year and a nine-year-old tagging along while his father scoped the area and talked with the locals would be odd. Plus, Dean didn’t have a real role in this hunt—except as bait.

Dean tried to sleep, but he felt miserable. His throat was sore, and his stomach was churning. Instead he grabbed the files John had left behind and flipped through them. He had no idea what exactly he was looking for but after minutes of staring at the bodies of kids’ younger then him and some older he knew what he was looking for. He was looking at himself, he was looking because he had a sick need to know what he would look like at the end of this day.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust John to kill the monster, it was that he wasn’t sure which was more important to his father, killing the monster or keeping him alive. To his father in practice they were the same in reality that was so far from the truth.

He climbed on the motel bed after grabbing some more Tylenol. Dean thought he wouldn’t be able to sleep, but he was waking up some time later, his eyes crusty with sleep and his father yelling at the door.

Dean scrambled to get off the bed, he had no idea how late it was. Past the dingy motel curtain it was dark outside. He tried to stand right up and wound up almost falling, he had to steady himself against the bed for a moment. John was swearing now in the background, Dean had no idea how long he had slept, or how long John had been standing there. He saw his father peering past the gap in the motel curtains and quickly walked to the door. John’s face was pulled back into a frown, his eyes’ clearly belying the anger that was only hinted at to the casual onlooker.

As soon as he had pulled the latch back and unlocked the lock, the door slammed back. Dean shrank against the wall. “What the hell is your problem? We’ve got a hunt tonight and you’re sleeping? I was out there for a good five minutes before you got your ass up.”

Dean didn’t say anything to that. First off, his throat was too dry and sore and it would have come out as a croak. Second, John didn’t care for excuses.

His father yelled for a moment longer and then he was asking. “Understand me?”

Dean hadn’t heard the last part; his head was foggy and it was hard to concentrate. He blinked dully up at John, and his father reached out grabbing his shirt. “I’m talking to you. You answer me when I speak to you, I’m not having any of this sullen crap today.”

Dean still didn’t speak, his skin felt sweaty and he was worried if he opened his mouth he would throw up. John let go of his throat with a disgusted look. “This is why I should have taken Sam, you’re too old. Too much of an insolent little punk, think you’re a grown ass adult. “

The mention of Sam and her taking his place got through his fever addled thoughts. “Yes, sir.” Before John could comment on his voice Dean repeated “Yes, sir.” He didn’t even know what he was agreeing to, but he just wanted his father to forget Sam and stop yelling at him and the hunt to start so it could be over with.

John stared at him a moment longer before grunting something and pushing past him. “Pack the impala, make sure you have my good set of knives.”

“Yes, sir.” The next few minutes passed in a blur, packing the impala, pulling on his own jacket, trying to hide just how sick he felt.

It was raining outside, and the cool rain dripped down his neck only adding to his discomfort. Dean was grateful when he climbed into the impala, he wondered briefly whether if it continued raining John would call off the hunt, then he realized how stupid that was. There was nothing if anything that ever made him call off a hunt.

Dean’s skin was burning. His throat was raw and saliva filled his mouth. He wanted to cry, he wanted to curl up in a warm bed. He wanted Sam. And yet he swallowed down all those _wants_ because if it wasn’t him doing this, then it would be Sam.

“I don’t know exactly what this thing looks like.” John was speaking, half to himself and half to Dean.

Dean tried to focus. “It doesn’t matter though. The legends are fairly uniform about what kills it. All we have to do is let it take the lure, and when he tries to come after you I’ll handle it.”

There was silence in the impala at that. Dean didn’t say it, but he was wondering how his father knew he could kill something that had already killed tens of people and he didn’t even know what it looked like…what if the legends were wrong? What if no one actually knew how to kill it?

Then he was dead.

That cold reality hit him again, it was more real than yesterday, more real than a few hours ago More real because in a few minutes---hours maybe it might be him as one of those notes in his father’s hunting journal.

They drove for over an hour until they reached a forest preserve. John parked the vehicle and Dean followed him out into the light drizzle still coming down. It was a full moon and if not for that it would have been pitch black except for their flashlights. Dean kept hearing things in the rustling of the leaves and the creaking branches. But maybe it was all in his head because his father didn’t react.

After what seemed to be at least half an hour of hiking they emerged into a spot that was mostly a clearing. A few trees were interspersed here and there but mostly it was scrubby short bushes and knee-high grass.

John strode forward stopping at a large tree dead center. It was old

And half the branches were rotting, the others loomed overhead casting shadows on the ground. The moonlight peeked through the branches.

“Come here.” Dean was unprepared for the command but he walked forward. His skin crawled as he realized John was pulling out a length of rope.

“Please, I won’t run.”

“Come here.” John’s voice had a hard edge that brooked no argument. Dean walked forward. His breath felt caught in his chest and he was pressed against the tree branch, his back digging into the bark. Rope wrapped around his torso holding him in place.

Then John’s fingers were groping his pocket, he took the knife from his jean pocket, snatched the salt and holy water from his jacket and took away the lighter and two other knifes he had tucked in his inner jacket. He missed the pen knife, Dean had quickly palmed and Dean held onto it like a life line…. logically he knew if something came after him the tiny blade would be nothing…but it made him feel better.

At least he wouldn’t die without a fight…. that was if he could somehow get a hand free in time.

John stared at him for one moment, with some inscrutable emotion in his eyes and then he was walking away.  He disappeared into the tree line and Dean was left alone.

Rain dripped down his face tickling. Every breath he drew in felt burning, his throat and nose felt sore. Tears dripped down his face mingling with the rain water. He didn’t have to fake the fear he felt.

Minutes passed…then hours…Dean was chilled and soaked to the bone. He wondered where his father was. He wondered had the monster somehow got his father already and was just waiting before coming after him. He wondered had John left him and just walked away…. was that the plan.

He only thought that last one once, then he pushed it down. Instead he focused on wriggling against the ropes holding him, they loosened and he could almost get an arm free but not quite. He adjusted the pen knife he was holding and considered slicing through the ropes.

His father would be pissed.

He heard rustling.

It was branches.

He heard footsteps.

It was just John.

And then he saw a person coming from the trees…it was clothed in white.

It wasn’t John. Dean slipped the knife down onto the ropes and desperately sawed.

Whatever _it_ was came closer, almost drifting upon the grass but not taking actual footsteps. John was nowhere in sight.

The creature came closer and this time Dean could clearly see it’s face. He froze, all his breath left him in a strangled gasp and it was a moment before he could breathe out “Mom?”

His mother didn’t speak. Her face was grim, her blond hair flowing across the shoulders of the white gown she wore. He had thought he might have been forgetting her face, but as he stared he knew he had remembered. There was his mother. She looked like an angel.

She stretched out a hand touching his cheek and it was ice cold. Dean shivered and he knew something was wrong.

“Mom?”

He whispered the word and she didn’t respond. Instead she changed. He clothes growing aflame even though there was no heat from the fire. Dean began sawing furiously at the rope holding him and one feel free just enough that he could began to work his arm free.

The flames had died down now and his mother had disappeared. Instead in her place was a thing that looked like his mother and yet not, the skin was blackened as if burnt and hung off her frame along with a dirty gray nightgown.

The odor of burnt flesh hung in the air. She was just as he had imagined every night when he awoke from his nightmares…. just as she must have looked the night she had died in Sam’s nursery.

A rotten burnt hand stretched out to him again and Dean tried to pull away. He wondered why his father wasn’t coming.

His question was answered by a yell and then he saw something else in the trees. It was moving inhumanly fast and he knew without needing anyone to tell him. There was two of these things…. two ways it appeared and it hunted in pairs…two reasons for its name. Once again legends hadn’t told the full story.

John wasn’t coming because he too was being hunted. Dean got his arm free and pulled at the ropes holding him. They fell away and he tried to get away. He backed up, holding his pen knife out like somehow it would keep the monster from gutting him like it had all the others.

His foot snagged and tripped over one of the ropes lying on the ground. He fell backwards, the monster followed him to the ground. It had long claws coming from the tips of its hands and its face had elongated to show a row of sharp gleaming teeth.

Claws flashed out and Dean blinded stabbed upwards with his knife. He felt his jacket rip and then his chest burned it sliced through his skin. He sank his knife into the flesh and the Two-face let out a keening sound and pulled back.

Dean had just enough time to get to his feet and try to run. He made it three steps before the creature appeared once more in his path. It was a foot away, he couldn’t run, there was no way he would be able to beat its inhuman speed.

He was trembling hard, soaked to the bone and his head swam. A warm trickle started down one leg and he was too terrified to be ashamed. That was what the creature wanted he knew _“It feeds off the fear of its victims before it kills you. It has to be ready to feed before it can be killed._ ”

Dean heard the words, but it didn’t matter. The knife he had was lost somewhere in the grass, and he was going to die.

_Better him then Sam._

_Always better him then Sam._

It reached for him again, and Dean desperately scrabbled backwards, slipping, and sliding on the wet leaves and grass. His hand met the knife that had been dropped and blindly he slashed upward. The creature let out a loud scream.

There were gunshots to his left. Dean didn’t turn his head, instead he stared into the darkened eyes of the monster that would be his death.

It dove toward him. More gunshots came and the creature jerked, spasming as bullets slammed into it. Dean jerked backwards quickly gaining his feet on shaky legs. Blood was trickling down his chest where the creature had clawed him and the rain was beginning to pick up. He was soaked to the bone.

Dean’s head was swimming and it was taking all his will to stand up right. His teeth chattered and he started blankly as his father walked toward him. His legs felt like lead as he started to walk.

Five feet from John, it all became too much. The darkness that had been eating at the corners of his vision overtook him, and he saw no more.

XXXX

John hadn’t anticipated there being two creatures. He knew that Dean had to be scared and the creature ready to feed before it could be killed. For some reason, many creatures were like, only vulnerable at certain times and under certain conditions. He had left that part out when talking to Bobby though. If Bobby though using one of the kids to lure the creature out was bad, he would have flipped his shit knowing just how close the monster had to be to making a kill before it itself could be killed.

His adrenaline was pumping, and his arm hurt where the two-faced’s mate had scratched him. Dean had somehow managed to get free even though he had been tied. And though part of him was angry that once again Dean had disobeyed, a small part of him felt a hint of pride that Dean had managed to get free.

_He had been taught well._

Dean was walking slow and his face was pale. John’s brows furrowed, and even before he consciously registered it, his mind was screaming something was wrong.  Dean took a step more, and then he collapsed.

John rushed forward, his heart thudding in his chest. He caught Dean just as his son was about to hit the ground. The boy’s clothes were soaked. John smelled the acrid tang of urine, mixed with wet leaves and …. the coppery smell of blood. Even though it was dark, the moonlight was enough to see the red stain soaking his clothes.

His hands were shaking as he lifted Dean’s jacket expecting the worst.  The monster had clawed him, and the slashes were deep but thankfully, even though it would need stitches it was more the kind of injury that looked worse than it actually was. Quickly John checked Dean over for more injury. He had a bruise to his temple, and more scratches and bruises to his arms and face…but otherwise he was okay.

Lightly John slapped Dean’s face, but he was out cold. John was acutely aware that he was alone in the middle of the woods, and though the likelihood of another supernatural creature lurking was slim, he hadn’t seen all that he had to take chances now. John shoved the gun he had in his hip holster, made sure his bowie knife was secure to his other thigh and then picked up his son.

Dean was light…and that more than anything reminded John of something he often forgot. Dean may have acted a lot older than his years most of the time. But he was nine years old[MS1] [MS2] [MS3] .[MS4]

By the time he hiked the five miles back to the car John was soaked and shivering. He was more concerned about Dean though. The boy hadn’t woken up once. John opened the car door one handed and gently laid Dean on the impala’s tan seats, heedless of the blood soaking into the leather. He had paused to wrap the gash with a crude bandage and that hadn’t soaked through, but Dean was still pale and limp. His breathing was shallow and John _knew_ something else was wrong.

He slapped Dean again, yelling this time in the voice that never failed to produce a response. Dean didn’t so much as stir. John tried again, this time taking his knuckles and rubbing Dean’s sternum hard enough to bruise.

He was rewarded with a cry of pain and Dean shifting away. His eyes blinked open, flickering blankly at half-mast before starting to close again.

“Look at me.”

With difficulty Dean turned, his eyes barely tracking. They were glassy and confused.

“Dad? Sir? Mom, she….” Dean trailed off, looking even more confused, before giving a weak cough.

Then it clicked, as Dean started sneezing… He was sick. John had assumed Dean not eating, sleeping late (or at least trying to) had been related to fear, but now he felt like shit knowing he had read Dean wrong.

“It’s okay Dean, it’s okay buddy. Let’s get you home?”

Dean nodded, his head already drooping off. He jerked awake though abruptly as though something had stung him. “Sam? Where’s Sam. Sam is— “

“Sam’s safe with Pastor Jim.”

“Safe?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Dean drifted into a doze, that wasn’t deep enough for him not to cry out in pain as John moved him to the [MS5] front seat and covered him with a blanket before jacking the heat as high as it would go.

The parking lot of the motel was empty or no doubt someone would have questioned why he was carrying his child in, with blood and urine soaked clothes. John left the weapons in the trunk, only bothering with the ones already strapped to him and a small bag of salt for the doors and windows.

Dean was thoroughly miserable by the time John got thinks settled. He had laid Dean on a motel bed, protected from the grime of his clothes by a towel. Dean moaned, restlessly shifting back and forth. John laid the last salt line and dropped the can, not bothering to put it in the trash as he instead turned back to Dean.

Dean, walked—half had to be dragged to the bathroom. John started the shower and then stripped Dean’s clothes off. The half delirious boy tried to fight him, only to stop at a sharp yell.

John instantly felt bad as Dean fell still but began silently crying. Once the clothes were off John saw why. His ribs had been killing him, and there were scratches going up his arms John hadn’t noticed at first.

Dean was too out of it to shower so John climbed in with him, not minding that his clothes quickly became soaked. Once Dean was finally clean, his cuts were bleeding freely. John, toweled him off, his heart catching in his chest as the rough motel cloth aggravated the cuts and Dean started crying again in earnest…still silently.

He dressed him in pajama pants and then let Dean rest on the bed as he went to get the rest of the stuff and change clothes. He tried not to think about what he was about to do as he quickly changed into shorts and a fresh shirt. Still, he felt sick as he went to the first aid kit and grabbed a needle, thread and antiseptic.

Maybe Dean, would be delirious with fever he wouldn’t feel too much? John knew that was unlikely but he consoled himself with that thought right until he poured antiseptic over the first laceration. Dean screamed out with that and John reached out holding him still so he wouldn’t hurt himself more as Dean screamed and cried struggling against his grip as the laceration burned.

Dean quieted after a moment and John quickly crossed to the TV turning it up as loud as it would go and then to the cheap motel radio, jacking up the radio to an old rock station.

 _Highway to Hell_ played interspersed with screams and John methodically cleaned Dean’s cuts one by one. By the end of it, John’s hands were shaking and Dean’s pajama pants were wet with urine again. He had ceased to scream by the end of it and instead was staying unnaturally still, his entire body rigid and his face soaked in tears. He had opened his eyes a few times during and each time John tried to reassure him, but it hadn’t worked.

John paused grabbing a bottle of whiskey from his duffel bag and taking a sip to steady his nerves. The burning whiskey took away the shaking of his hands and his head felt a little clearer and everything was more distant.

_He could do this._

John hardened his resolve, and picked up the needle, until to pause as an idea struck him. He grabbed the whiskey bottle and brought the mouth to Dean’s lips. With a little coaxing Dean took a sip then tried to turn his head away sputtering, but John forced it back and Dean took a larger swallow before lying back.

His eyes fluttered open. “Dad…”

“Yeah, what is it?”

 

“Sam? Where’s Sam?”

“With Pastor Jim.”

“Pastor Jim?”

“Yes.”

Dean, seemed to relax at that and his eyes slowly drifted closed again.

John hated himself for doing it but it had to be done. If the cuts were left open they’d either scar horribly or get infected.

The needle slid through his skin easily, but the rest wasn’t easy for either of them. Dean had stopped screaming during the cleaning but now he started anew. Sweat beaded on John’s face as he tried to work quickly so it could be done as soon as possible.

Dean tried to get away and John reached out, pulling Dean closer so he was half on his lap and wrapping a leg around Dean’s to keep him in place.

Dean was deliriously begging. “Please—please stop—I’ll be good…I promise—I promise…” John felt bile rise in his throat as he realized Dean was feverishly thinking this pain was a punishment.

“You need stitches Dean…y-you need this.”

His consolations did nothing. Dean screamed, cried, and pleaded, becoming increasingly desperate. John paused in stitching as Dean jerked again him, his breath seeming to catch and then he was gagging. John turned him to his side as Dean vomited.

He waited until Dean was done, wiped his face, and then went back to stitching. It was an hour and a half, forty stitches and too many tears, and screams before they were finished.

John tied off the last stitches gratefully set the needle down. Dean shied away from his touch as John finally released him, but John pulled him close anyway…just for a moment.

A moment wouldn’t make him weak. It wouldn’t make either of them weak. They had a few minutes and by then Dean had settled into his grip, his breath evening out, even though he was still sobbing. John was well aware how bad Dean had to be hurting but they were out of the good stuff. So, he made do. He changed Dean into fresh clothes and then grabbed a bottle of Gatorade mixing a glass of it with a dash of whiskey. He topped that off with a few pills of Motrin and then remembering how Dean had vomited earlier, some Pepto-Bismol.

Dean fought, him but John managed to get the meds and fluids down and then settled back exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to go to sleep, but those monsters still needed to be buried and he and Dean needed supplies, especially with Dean as sick as he was.

John sighed as he pulled on Jeans and shoved the Impala’s keys in his pocket. He was reaching for his boots when a voice called out softly, “Dad? Did we kill it.”

John turned to find Dean staring at him with glassy eyes even though his voice was surprisingly lucid. A lump settled in his throat that even after all that had happened Dean still cared about the job. He felt like hell for not noticing Dean was so sick but he now also felt even more proud as he realized the son he had raised.

“Yeah we did…” John paused his throat too thick to speak for a moment. His voice was husky as he added. “We killed it…you did good Dean.”

Dean stared at him with glassy eyes and then the hint of a smile crossed his lips before his eyes closed and he fell back asleep.

XXXX

Dean woke up after tossing feverishly for who knew how long. His ribs were on fire, as were his arms. He couldn’t get comfortable, and he felt like his skin was on fire. Sweat dripped off hi, soaking the motel sheets.

Dean’s eyes finally fluttered open and he stared around confusedly. It was hard to think. He was laying on a ratty bed in the middle of an equally ratty room. A flowery wallpaper peeled off the walls and water stains covered the ceiling. The whole thing smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. Dean turned his head looking for Sam or his dad. The room was empty except for him. His dad being gone wasn’t so much of a surprise. His dad was always leaving them for weeks at a time.

But Sam…Sam being gone was something else. Sam was never gone. Never. Dean _always_ knew where Sam was…He had known that since Sam was a baby and he was a little kid. Sam was his…to watch to take care of ….and now she was gone.

Dean pushed himself up, hating how his arms were trembling. His head was pounding and he ached. He looked down at his chest and noted dispassionately that he had a bandage wrapped around his chest….

A monster…screaming…fire…blood…fever-fragmented memories drifted in and out of his awareness.

Sam.

Find Sam.

Where?

Dean finally realized he was just standing there and hadn’t actually moved.

He stumbled but managed to walk to the bathroom, Sam wasn’t there. He checked under the bed. Behind the TV stand…the small closet…and even though he knew she wouldn’t fit…the duffel bag.

As each moment passed he grew more and more frantic. Sam…Sam was missing.

_The monster?_

_They had killed it…right??? He couldn’t remember exactly…. but he thought they had._

_It hadn’t gotten Sam._

The thought had his heart quickening. Dean forced his panic down. _It couldn’t have gotten Sam…_

_Sam must have just left the motel…yeah that had to be it…she had gotten bored and left._

Dean pulled a t shirt on and crossed to the motel door. It didn’t occur to him to put on shoes…just like it didn’t occur to him that Sam was in Blue Lakes, MN safely miles away.

It was dark outside, and cold. Dean shivered as he stepped outside. The cold ground hurt his feet, but putting on shoes didn’t occur to him. The only thought crossing his feverish mind was finding Sam and making sure she was okay.

XXXX

John, had burned the bodies left behind after the hunt and grabbed some supplies. It would be a long next few days with Dean being sick. John, wanted to move on. There was talk of a werewolf hunt a few states over but he knew Dean would need at least some time to recuperate, dragging a sick kid along would only slow him down and taking Dean back to Minnesota would take even longer than waiting a day so he could get better.

John turned off the impala and turned to tell Dean to grab the groceries from the back seat only to remember his oldest was still in the hotel room. The two paper bags weren’t heavy, but John was balancing the extra weapons duffel from the trunk, it was an awkward walk since the stairs to the 2nd floor balcony of the motel were slick with rain.

He reached the room where he and Dean were staying and started to walk past, already disregarding the ajar door as their room. Until he noticed the tell-tale grains of salt spilling past the doorway, from a disturbed salt line.

_What the hell?_

The groceries dropped from his grasp, training already kicking in as his newly freed hands grabbed his gun from his waist band and his mind already was going through the possibilities of what had happened.

John edged into the room, checking hard corners expecting anything. His heart was hammering in his chest. The room appeared empty, the bed he had left Dean laying on was rumpled but Dean was nowhere in sight.

John had expected as much, there was no way. Dean would have left the door wide open and the salt line disturbed unless something had happened to him. _Maybe the monster had been part of a nest?_

_Maybe Dean had been kidnapped?_

_A …._

The thought abruptly cut off as John heard a moan, and rounded the corner of a bed to find Dean lying on the floor in a mess of what looked like Gatorade and medicine puke. His feet were bare and covered in mud, pieces of grass and twigs clung to Dean’s hair and clothes. And his t-shirt and shorts he was wearing were soaked, either in sweat or rain, John couldn’t tell.

Dean, appeared to be half asleep, as he restlessly tossed and turned, his arms wrapped around a scrap of blanket John vaguely recognized.

Before John could decide what to do Dean had woken up, his eyes snapping open. They were glassy, and he stared blankly before blurting out in a panic. “Sam?”

Dean pushed himself up with arms that were shaking and was obviously trying (and failing) to get to his feet. He called out again. “Sam?”

John crouched down, putting his gun away, as he struggled to make sense of what was going on.  He reached out pulling Dean up only to have Dean weakly struggle against him. “Where’s Sam? I need to find Sam.”

Dean’s skin was flushed and his eyes were unfocused. His fever was still there and judging by how hot and confused he was it had probably gone higher. “Sam???”

Dean cried out again and this time John spoke. “She’s okay, Dean. She’s with Pastor Jim.” His oldest stared at him for several long seconds before what had been said seemed to register, Dean marginally relaxed and John used the opportunity to ease him down to the bed and grab the bags he had dropped. When he got back to Dean a minute later the boy was still sitting there, staring blankly, and still clutching the scrap of gray blanket he had been holding while he slept.

John didn’t want to think how high Dean’s fever had to be for him to be acting the way he was. It was clear in part what must have happened, Dean had wandered outside the motel room feverishly searching for Sam and when he hadn’t found her he had returned to the motel room only to pass out on the floor. He was sick and probably had been before the hunt, it was just like Dean to hide stuff from him.

Anger at Dean’s behavior started to rise only to be replaced by anger at himself for not noticing how sick Dean was in the first place. “Come on kiddo, let’s get you in the shower?”

Dean didn’t move at the suggestion so John grabbed him by the arm, his rough hands being as gentle as he could. “Come on.”

His voice was harder than he had meant for it to be, and John winced as the unintended order cut through the feverish confusion and Dean stumbled to his feet. He stayed standing for about two seconds before even his willpower wasn’t enough. Within seconds longer he was wavering, and then slowly his legs buckled. John caught him, slipping a hand under Dean’s elbow.

That support wasn’t enough. Dean wobbled as he tried to take a step, and bit his lip stifling a cry. It was clear Dean was too feverish and delirious to walk and glancing down, it was also obvious his feet hurt.

The big toenail on his right foot was close to being ripped off completely, and he had scratches covering the skin of both feet. John, swallowed hard wandering just how far Dean had wandered feverishly outside before coming back to the hotel room.

“It’s okay, bud.” John tried to be soothing. For just a second he thought of Mary and knew she would have known just what to say to console Dean. Then he quickly bit that thought off. Thinking about Mary wouldn’t help, it never did.

He itched for a drink, anything to soothe the pain in his soul, but right now he had a sick kid to take care of.

Dean, was light in his arms as he scooped him up easily, holding him tightly like he hadn’t since he was a child. Dean, stiffened in his arms before starting to relax. John made it two steps towards the bathroom before Dean gagged, and the remains of whatever had been left in his stomach wound up on both of them.

It was gross, and disgusting but what made John feel the worse was Dean immediately after his retching had subsided began apologizing for getting sick, like it was something he could control.

In between the “I’m sorry Sir’s” and “I’ll clean it up.” John somehow managed to calm Dean down enough, that he quieted down. John gritted his teeth, trying to keep his anger out of his face.

_When had it come to this that Dean thought getting sick was something that would get him in trouble?_

They made it to the bathroom, and John carefully guided Dean down to the bathroom mat as he started the water for a shower before realizing Dean wouldn’t be able to stand up in the spray. Instead he started filling up the tub then turned back to Dean who hadn’t moved from his spot on the bath mat. His eyes were glass and he kept swallowing.

“Can you get your clothes off, while I go grab some fresh ones?”

Dean just stared at him blankly looking confused. John frowned, taking in Dean’s fever flushed face and sweat slick skin. He needed Tylenol, but as for whether he could keep it down was another issue.

The question must have finally registered or at least partly because Dean mumbled. “What?”

Instead of answering, John started pulling Dean’s T-shirt off, and Dean after a moment sluggishly began helping. John made sure he had a good start getting undressed and then went out to find some clean clothes for Dean in the duffels.

With a clean T-shirt in hand, and a pair of shorts, John hurried back to the bathroom as he heard a retch.

Dean had managed to get undressed and was doubled up over the toilet once again throwing up.  All the injuries covering his body stood out clearly, and John was struck by how thin and frail his son looked as his stomach and chest sucked in while he retched so that his ribs stood out clearly.

John, treated Dean like a man…like a soldier, but Dean was still a child. John squatted down next to him trying to comfort Dean, he reached out to rub Dean’s back and the boy feverishly shied away from his touch.

John, swallowed sharply and said. “Just let it out, Dean. Let it out son.”

Dean didn’t answer, he was throwing up to hard. Instead five minutes later after he had finally stopped and John was helping him side step the vomit on the floor (from Dean having missed the toilet), Dean mumbled “I’ll clean it up.”

John didn’t bother to correct him this time (it only upset Dean more) instead he nodded, and pulled the shower curtain back a little more. One hand was on Dean’s shoulder guiding him into the tepid water. The other was curled into a fist, his fingernails digging into his skin. He was angry…. but with himself, not Dean.

Dean tried to back out the tub as the water flowed against his cuts and stitches stinging. Pink bloomed out against the water and Dean whimpered, and tried to climb out. “Stay!”

The order came out barked as John turned back from where he had been wiping the floor. Dean, shrank back, curling in on himself, and trembling hard, but he didn’t try to get out again.

John, tried apologizing, “I’m sorry, kiddo. But you’ve got a high fever.”

When that didn’t have an effect, he tried soothing. “You’ll feel better after this.” And finally, he fell silent and instead settled on _doing_. It was easier than anything else, easier than trying to console a child he didn’t know how to console.

The tub of water was soon dirty as John wiped the grime and filth of hunting and sickness off Dean. He scrubbed his hair and water dripped down Dean’s face, even so John could tell some of it was tears. He pretended not to notice.

Dean said it softly at first. “I want Sammy.”

John, focused on scrubbing off the patch of dried mud near Dean’s stitches.

“I want Sammy.”

_It was being particularly obstinate, pieces of it had dried with blood…and oh shit…okay that was just an abrasion…a big one…but it wouldn’t need stitches at least._

Dean whimpered, as a chunk of scabbed over blood and mud fell off in the water, more tears that couldn’t be mistaken for water, dripped down his face, and he whimpered against. “Sammy?”

His eyes were glassy, and he felt a little cooler but was still obvious delirious. Dean needed his temperature taken.

“Sammy?” Dean called out again plaintively. “Where’s Sammy?”

“She’s at pastor Jim’s.”

The answer seemed to register for just a moment before Dean was asking once again.” I want Sammy.”

“Sammy’s fine Dean. You’ll see her soon. I’m here.”

Dean didn’t answer, instead he tried to climb out the tub, only to stumble and almost fall. John caught him wrapping him in a towel.

Dean squirmed against him, still feverishly calling for Sam and it was a few minutes before John managed to get him dressed in shorts, opting to skip the t-shirt with Dean already burning up.

“I want Sammy.”

Over and over again, Dean repeated that phrase, whimpering and crying. Nothing John said soothed him, no reassurance, and no promises, and John felt like shit every minute Dean called for Sam. Dean—his nine-year-old son—wanted his sister and not his own father when he was sick…what kind of parent did that make him?

His cellphone rang startling them both as John, helped Dean to bed and laid him down. It continued ringing, and after coaxing Dean into drinking some water, John finally answered the insistent caller.

The screen was lighted up showing pastor Jim’s number. John frowned and answered. “What?”

Instead of Pastor Jim’s somber tones he was met with the high-pitched inquisitiveness of his five-year-old daughter, Sam. “Can I talk to Dean.”

John didn’t answer that, instead he asked a question of his own. His voice more of a growl than he intended. “What are you doing calling me at…” John glanced at his watch. “2:30 in the morning?”

“I heard Dean was hurt.”

John paused pulling the phone away from his ear and kneading his forehead, how had she found out? Had pastor Jim told her or…

His question was answered, as Sam continued, her voice wavering now. “I heard Pastor Jim talking to you and you said Dean needed stitches and— “Her voice was growing hysterical and John over talked her.

“Calm down.”

Sam either didn’t hear him or just as likely ignored him. Dean stirred restlessly on the bed and rather than risk waking him up John stepped outside so he could give Sam a stern talking to and send her back to bed where she belonged.

“Sam, ---“

“Dean’s hurt bad isn’t he— “

“Sam, listen to— “

“Why couldn’t I come? I’m old enough! I— “

“Sam be quiet and— “

“Dean always goes but I’m big and— “

“Sam, shut the fuck up!”

Sam, fell silent then, and John immediately felt like crap as he heard stifled tears on the other end of the line.

Sam was subdued for the rest of the call, and he doubted she believed his lies completely of Dean being fine. But haven’t a hysterical five-year-old on Pastor Jim’s hands was the last thing either of them needed.

John, stashed his cellphone in his pocket and went back in the motel room. The bed Dean had been on was deserted. John had a moment of panic before he heard a crashing sound in the bathroom and went in that direction.

Dean was leaning against the bathroom sink, the contents of the med kit strewn across the ground as he tried in vain to pour a bottle of Tylenol. His hand was shaking too much though. Dean looked up as he walked in, his eyes were glasses with fever and his voice was hoarse.

“Sorry, I’ll clean it— “Dean broke off in a coughing fit and John waited for it to subside before replying.

“It’s okay, Dean I’ll get it.”

Wordlessly he reached for the Tylenol bottle about to pour it then realized it was children’s Tylenol. He had no idea when they had gotten that and realized Dean had probably picked it up on a shopping trip. Secondly, he realized he had no idea how much to give Dean. The medication was weight based and he didn’t know how much Dean weighed.

Once again, his own inadequacy struck him in the face. It was the little things he missed. Dean could strip a gun in seconds. He knew how long it took him to run a mile. But he had no idea how much his own son weighed.

“How much?” John, felt like an asshole asking but Dean didn’t seem to notice. He pointed to a line on the measuring cap and then accepted the reddish liquid, downing it in one gulp. His throat bobbed and gulped afterwards and John watched him warily wondering was it going to make a reappearance. After a few seconds Dean had relaxed and John guided him back to bed.

John finished picking up the last stuff in the bathroom and expected to find Dean asleep. Instead his oldest was sitting up halfway in bed, tears streaming down his face. John placed the shaving cream can he was holding down and went to Dean.

“What’s up bud? Where are you hurting?”

Dean didn’t speak at first and instead started crying more. John felt his fingers tighten and his lips compress. It was an automatic respond he wasn’t made to deal with crying kids, never did. Usually if Dean or Sam started he got them quiet quick. But yelling at Dean to man up didn’t seem right with how miserable he was.

Awkwardly, John tried to tuck Dean back in, only to have him mumble through a wall of tears. “Sam? Where’s Sam? I want Sam?”

Fifteen minutes later Dean still hadn’t stopped. If anything, he was more desperate to _find_ Sam. John’s explanation of where Sam was had quieted the delirious boy down for seconds before he was begging again.

John couldn’t take it. Normally if Sam was sick, Dean took care of it. John recognized it was shitty of him to leave his kid taking care of her, but Dean did it better than he ever could and they each had their roles to play. (That was how he rationalized it to himself when he was out at a bar fishing for information and Dean was at home probably cleaning up puke.) John hadn’t considered until now who took care of Dean when he was sick though.

Dean hardly ever appeared sick and if he was it was usually mild and cleared up quickly…or maybe Dean just hid it well.

In any case the incessant pleading and crying was getting to me. It was more reflex then intentional when he turned to Dean and yelled. “Shut the fuck up and go to sleep!”

His heart was thudding in his chest and it was mercifully quiet for about a minute. John felt like shit, but what was done was done.

Dean didn’t speak again but he couldn’t stop crying, tears rolling down his cheeks and his shoulders shaking with stifled sobs.

John walked closer an apology on his lips and Dean flinched backwards. It was clear what he expected. John reached out trying to be soothing, Dean just flinched away more.

They weren’t like that. No hugs. No soothing words. It was all orders and punishments and the occasional good job.

He was making Dean strong…sometimes he wondered at the cost.

He didn’t know what else to do, so instead he dialed up Pastor Jim. After assuring the man he was all right he asked for Sam. Almost instantly she was there, she must have been waiting for the phone to ring.

He didn’t say anything to Sam but instead passed the phone to Dean. “here she is bud.” Then he walked out on the Motel balcony.

It was cold outside but he preferred standing out here to facing the truth in there. He was strangely proud, His kids didn’t need him, all they needed was each other. And he also felt like shit knowing that this messed up situation was never what Mary would have wanted.

By the time he went back in Dean was calm, his face dry now, and the phone drifting away from his face as he tiredly tried to hold it up. Sam’s voice could be heard and John felt his heart pick up as he recognized Sam’s five-year-old voice singing “Hey Jude.”

He hung just out of sight, watching as Sam’s voice finished the last lyrics. Dean’s eyes were half closed and even though she was miles away Sam seemed to sense it.

“Now go to sleep Dean.”

Dean mumbled half -asleep. “Love you Sammie.”

“Love you too.” The phone clicked off after a moment, and a few seconds later it fell from Dean’s hand as he finally fell asleep.

In silence John undressed and turned out the light. He didn’t fall asleep though. Instead he climbed in bed next to Dean and flipped the TV on, keeping the volume low.  The room flickered with lights from the TV, and rain spattered against the window as a storm started up.

Dean’s chest rose and fell and as he moved restlessly in his sleep John slipped an arm around him.

 _Just this one wouldn’t make him weak._ John wasn’t sure whether the thought was about him or Dean. Hours passed, until finally it was quiet outside and the TV had powered itself off. The room was silent as Dean rested against John’s chest, both of them fast asleep.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> http://www.native-languages.org/two-face.htm
> 
> Two-Face is a man eating monster. Making any kind of eye contact with the second face will either cause you to instantly die or be paralyzed with fear until the Two-Face turns around and murders you with its sharp elbows. It prefers to prey on children and pregnant women, either kidnapping, murdering, mutilating or eating them. They are also said to cause fits and night terrors in children. 
> 
> The only defense against the Two-Face is to avoid eye contact with its second face and flee immediately.


End file.
